Kitty did not wrench herself loose at once. She wasn't quite sure that
this was not a continuance of her nightmare. She knew that nightmares
had a way of breaking off in the middle of things, of never arriving
anywhere. The room looked natural enough and the pain in her shoulder
seemed real enough, but one never could tell. She decided to wait for
the next episode.
“Answer!” cried the spokesman of the two, twisting Kitty's shoulder.
“Where did they take him?”
Awake! Kitty wrenched her shoulder away and swept the bedclothes up to
her chin. She was thoroughly frightened, but her brain was clear.
The spark of self-preservation flew hither and about in search of
expediencies, temporizations. She must come through this somehow with
the vantage on her side. She could not possibly betray that poor young
man, for that would entail the betrayal of Cutty also. She saw but one
avenue, the telephone; and these two men were on the wrong side of the
bed, between her and the door.
“What do you want?” Her throat was so dry she wondered whether the words
were projected far enough for them to hear.
“We want the address of the wounded man you brought into this
apartment.”
“They took him to a hospital.”
“He was taken away from there.”
“He was?”
“Yes, he was. You may not know where, but you will know the address of
the man who tricked us; and that will be sufficient.”
“The army surgeon? He was called in by chance. I don't know where he
lives.”
“The man in the dress suit.”
“He was with the surgeon.”
“He came first. Come; we have no time to waste. We don't want to hurt
you, and we hope you will not force us.
“Will you step out of the room while I dress?”
“No. Tell us where the man lives, and you can have the whole apartment
to yourself.”
“You speak English very well.”
“Enough! Do you want us to bundle you up in the bedclothes and carry you
off? It will not be a pleasant experience for a pretty young woman like
yourself. Something happened to the man you knew as Gregory. Will that
make you understand?”
“You know what abduction means?”
“Your police will not catch us.”
“But I might give you the wrong address.”
“Try it and see what happens. Young lady, this is a bad affair for a
woman to be mixed up in. Be sensible. We are in a hurry.”
“Well, you seem to have acquired at least one American habit!” said a
gruff voice from the bedroom doorway. “Raise your hands quickly, and
don't turn,” went on the gruff voice. “If I shoot it will be to kill.
It is a rough game, as you say. That's it; and keep them up. Now, then,
young lady, slip on your kimono. Get up and search these men. I'm in a
hurry, too.”
Kitty obeyed, very lovely in her dishevelment. Repugnant as the task was
she disarmed the two men and flung their weapons on the bed.
“Now something to tie their hands; anything that will hold.”
Kitty could see the speaker now. Another coal heaver, but evidently on
her side.
“Tie their hands behind them... I warn you not to move, men. When I say
I'll shoot I mean it. Don't be afraid of hurting them, miss. Very good.
Now bandage their eyes. Handkerchiefs.”
But Kitty's handkerchiefs did not run to the dimensions' required; so
she ripped up a petticoat. Torn between her eagerness to complete a
disagreeable task and her offended modesty, Kitty went through the
performance with creditable alacrity. Then she jumped back into bed,
doubled her knees, and once more drew up the bedclothes to her chin,
content to be a spectator, her eyes as wide as ever they possibly could
be.
Some secret-service man Cutty had sent to protect her. Dear old Cutty!
Small wonder he had urged her to spend the night at a hotel. The
admiration of her childhood returned, but without the shackles of
shyness. She had always trusted him absolutely, and to this trust was
now added understanding. To have him pop into her life again in this
fashion, all the ordinary approaches to intimacy wiped out by these
amazing episodes; the years bridged in an hour! If only he were younger!
“Watch them, miss. Don't be afraid to shoot. I'll return in a
moment”--still gruffly. The secret-service man pushed his prisoners into
chairs and left the bedroom.
Kitty did not care how gruff the voice was; it was decidedly pleasant
in her ears. Gingerly she picked up one of the revolvers. Kitty Conover
with shooting irons in her hands, like a movie actress! She heard a
whistle. After this an interval of silence, save for the ticking of the
alarm clock on the stand. She eyed the blindfolded men speculatively,
swung out of bed, and put on her stockings and sandals; then she sat on
the edge of the bed and waited for the sequence. Kitty Conover was going
to have some queer recollections to tell her grandchildren, providing
she had any. That morning she had risen to face a humdrum normal day.
And here she was, at midnight, hobnobbing with quiescent murder and
sudden death! To-morrow Burlingame would ask her to hustle up the Sunday
stuff, and she would hustle. She wanted to laugh, but was a little
afraid that this laughter might degenerate into incipient hysteria.
There was still in her mind a vivid recollection of her dream--the fire
of diamonds and the blonde girl with the tiara of rubies. Olga, Olga!
Russian; the whole affair was Russian. She shivered. Always that
land and people had appeared to her in sinister aspect; no doubt an
impression acquired from reading melodramas written by Englishmen who,
once upon a time, had given Russia preeminence as a political menace.
Russia, in all things--music, art, literature--the tragic note. Stefani
Gregor and Johnny Two-Hawks had roused the enmity of some political
society with this result. Nihilist or Bolshevist or socialist, there
was little choice; and Cutty sensibly did not want her drawn into the
whirlpool.
What a pleasant intimacy hers and Cutty's promised to be! And if he
hadn't casually dropped into the office that afternoon she would have
surrendered the affair to the police, and that would have been the end
of it. Amazing thought--you might jog along all your life at the side
of a person and never know him half so well as someone you met m a tense
episode, like that of the immaculate Cutty crossing the fire escape with
Two-Hawks on his shoulders!
She heard the friendly coal heaver going down the corridor to the door.
When he returned to the bedroom two men accompanied him. Not a word was
said. The two men marched off with the prisoners and left Kitty alone
with her saviour.
“Thank you,” she said, simply.
“You poor little chicken, did you believe I had deserted you?” The voice
wasn't gruff now.
“Cutty?” Kitty ran to him, flinging her arms round his neck. “Oh,
Cutty!”
Cutty's heart, which had bumped along an astonishing number of million
times in fifty-two years, registered a memorable bump against his ribs.
The touch of her soft arms and the faint, indescribable perfume which
emanates from a dainty woman's hair thrilled him beyond any thrill he
had ever known. For Kitty's mother had never put her arms round old
Cutty's neck. Of course he understood readily enough: Molly's girl,
flesh of her flesh. And she had rushed to him as she would have rushed
to her father. He patted her shoulder clumsily, still a little dazzled
for all the revelation in the analysis. The sweet intimacy of it! The
door of Paradise opened for a moment, and then shut in his face.
“I did not recognize you at all!” she cried, standing off. “I shouldn't
have known you on the street. And it is so simple. What a wonderful man
you are!”
“For an old codger?” Cutty's heart registered another sizable bump.
Kitty laughed. “Never call yourself old to me again. Are you always
doing these things?”
“Well, I keep moving. I suspected something like this might happen.
Those two will go to the Tombs to await deportation if they are aliens.
Perhaps we can dig something out of them relative to this man Gregor.
Anyhow, we'll try.”
“Cutty, I saw a man in the court with a pocket lamp before I went to
bed. He was hunting for something.”
“I didn't find anything but a lot of fresh food someone had thrown out.”
“It was you, then?”
“Yes. There was a vague possibility that your protege might have thrown
out something valuable during the struggle.”
“What?”
“Lord knows! A queer business, Kitty, you've lugged me into--my own!
And there is one thing I want you to remember particularly: Life means
nothing to the men opposed, neither chivalry nor ethics. Annihilation is
their business. They don't want civilization; they want chaos. They
have lost the sense of comparisons or they would not seek to thrust
Bolshevism down the throats of the rest of the world. They say democracy
has failed, and their substitute is murder and loot. Kitty, I want you
to leave this roost.”
“I shall stay until my lease expires.”
“Why? In the face of real danger?”
“Because I intend to, Cutty--unless you kidnap me.”
“Have you any good reason?”
“You'll laugh; but something tells me to stay here.”
But Cutty did not laugh. “Very well. Tomorrow an assistant janitor will
be installed. His name is Antonio Bernini. Every night he will whistle
up the tube. Whistle back. If you are going out for the evening notify
him where you intend to go and when you expect to be back. A wire from
your bed to his cot will be installed. In danger, press the button.
That's the best I can do for you, since you decide to stick. I don't
believe anything more will happen to-night, but from now on you will be
watched. Never come directly to my apartment. Break your journey two
or three times with taxis. Always use Elevator Four. The boy is mine;
belongs to the service. So our Bolshevik friends won't gather anything
about you from him.”
As a matter of fact, Cutty had now come to the conviction that it would
be well to let Kitty remain here as a lure. He had urged her to leave,
and she had refused, so his conscience was tolerably clear. Besides, she
would henceforth be guarded with a ceaseless efficiency second only to
that which encompasses a President of the United States. Always some man
of the service would be watching those who watched her. This was going
to develop into a game of small nets, one or two victims at a time.
Because these enemies of civilization lacked coherence in action there
would be slim chance of rounding them up in bulk. But from now on men
would vanish--one here, a pair there, perhaps on occasion four or five.
And those who had known them would know them no more. The policy would
be that employed by the British in the submarine campaign--mysterious
silence after the evanishment.
“It's all so exciting!” said Kitty. “But that poor old man Gregor! He
had a wonderful violin, Cutty; and sometimes I used to hear him play
folklore music--sad, haunting melodies.”
“We'll know in a little while what's become of him. I doubt there is a
foreign organization in the city that hasn't one or more of our men on
the inside. A word will be dropped somewhere. I'm rarely active on
this side of the Atlantic; and what I'm doing now is practically due to
interest. But every active operative in New York, Boston, Philadelphia,
and Chicago is on the lookout for a man who, if left free, will stir
up a lot of trouble. He has leadership, this Boris Karlov, a former
intimate here of Trotzky's. We have reason to believe that he slipped
through the net in San Francisco. Probably under a cleverly forged
passport. Now please describe the man who came in with the policeman. I
haven't had time to make inquiries at the precinct, where they will have
a minute description of him.”
“He made me think of a gorilla, just as I told you. His face was pretty
well banged up. Naturally I did not notice any scar. A dreadfully black
beard, shaven.”
“Squat, powerful, like a gorilla. Lord, I wish I'd had a glimpse of him!
He's one of the few topnotchers I haven't met. He's the spark, the hand
on the plunger. The powder is all ready in this land of ours; our job is
to keep off the sparks until we can spread the stuff so it will only
go puff instead of bang. This man Karlov is bad medicine for democracy.
Poor devil!”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I'm honestly sorry for them. This fellow Karlov has suffered.
He is now a species of madman nothing will cure. He and his kind have
gained their ends in Russia, but the impetus to kill and burn and loot
is still unchecked. Sorry, yes; but we can't have them here. They
remind me of nothing so much as those blind deep-sea monsters in one of
Kipling's tales, thrown up into air and sunlight by a submarine volcano,
slashing and bellowing. But we can't have them here any longer. Keep
those revolvers under your pillow. All you have to do is to point.
Nobody will know that you can't shoot. And always remember, we're
watching over you. Good-night.”
“Mouquin's for lunch?”
“Well, I'll be hanged! But it can't be, Kitty. You and I must not be
seen in public. If that was Karlov you will be marked, and so will any
one who travels with you.”
“Good gracious!”
“Fact. But come up to the roost--changing taxis--to-morrow at five and
have tea.”
Down in the street Cutty bore into the slanting rain, no longer a
drizzle. With his hands jammed in his side pockets and his gaze on the
sparkling pavement he continued downtown, in a dangerously ruminative
frame of mind, dangerous because had he been followed he would not have
known it.
Molly Conover's girl! That afternoon it had been Tommy Conover's girl;
now she was Molly's. It occurred to him for the first time that he was
one of those unfortunate individuals who are always able to open the
door to Paradise for others and are themselves forced to remain outside.
Hadn't he introduced Conover to Molly, and hadn't they fallen in love
on the spot? Too old to be a hero and not old enough to die. He grinned.
Some day he would use that line.
Of course it wasn't Kitty who set this peculiar cogitation in motion. It
wasn't her arms and the perfume of her hair. The actual thrill had come
from a recrudescence of a vanished passion; anyhow, a passion that had
been held suspended all these years. Still, it offered a disquieting
prospect. He was sensible enough to realize that he would be in for some
confusion in trying to disassociate the phantom from the quick.
Most pretty young women were flitter-flutters, unstable, shallow,
immature. But this little lady had depth, the sense of the living drama;
and, Lord, she was such a beauty! Wanted a man who would laugh when he
was happy and when he was hurt. A bull's-eye--bang, like that! For the
only breed worth its salt was the kind that laughed when happy and when
hurt.
The average young woman, rushing into his arms the way she had, would
not have stirred him in the least. And immediately upon the heels of
this thought came a taste of the confusion he saw in store for himself.
Was it the phantom or Kitty? He jumped to another angle to escape the
impasse. Kitty's coming to him in that fashion raised an unpalatable
suggestion. He evidently looked fatherly, no matter how he felt. Hang
these fifty-two years, to come crowding his doorstep all at once!
He raised his head and laughed. He suddenly remembered now. At nine that
night he had been scheduled to deliver a lecture on the Italo-Jugoslav
muddle before a distinguished audience in the ballroom of a famous
hotel! He would have some fancy apologizing to do in the morning.
He stepped into a doorway, then peered out cautiously. There was not a
single pedestrian in sight. No need of hiking any further in this
rain; so he hunted for a taxi. To-morrow he would set the wires humming
relative to old Stefani Gregor. Boris Karlov, if indeed it were he,
would lead the way. Hadn't Stefani and Boris been boyhood friends, and
hadn't Stefani betrayed the latter in some political affair? He wasn't
sure; but a glance among his 1912 notes would clear up the fog.
But that young chap! Who was he? Cutty set his process of logical
deduction moving. Karlov--always supposing that gorilla was Karlov--had
come in from the west. So had the young man. Gregor's inclinations had
been toward the aristocracy; at least, that had been the impression. A
Bolshevik would not seek haven with a man like Gregor, as this young man
had. But Two-Hawks bothered him; the name bothered him, because it had
no sense either in English or in Russian. And yet he was sure he had
heard it somewhere. Perhaps his notes would throw some light on that
subject, too.
When he arrived home Miss Frances, the nurse, informed him that the
patient was babbling in an outlandish tongue. For a long time Cutty
stood by the bedside, translating.
“Olga!... Olga!... And she gave me food, Stefani, this charming American
girl. Never must we forget that. I was hungry, and she gave me food....
But I paid for it. You, gone, there was no one else.... And she is
poor.... The torches!... I am burning, burning!... Olga!”
“What does he say?” asked the nurse.
“It is Russian. Is it a crisis?” he evaded.
“Not necessarily. Doctor Harrison said he would probably return to
consciousness sometime to-morrow. But he must have absolute quiet. No
visitors. A bad blow, but not of fatal consequence. I've seen hundreds
of cases much worse pull out in a fortnight. You'd better go to bed,
sir.”
“All right,” said Cutty, gratefully. He was tired. The ball did not
rebound as it used to; the resilience was petering out. But look alive,
there! Big events were toward, and he must not stop to feel of his
pulse.
Three o'clock in the morning.
The man in the Gregor bedroom sat down on the bed, the pocket lamp
dangling from his hairy fingers. Not a nook or cranny in the apartment
had he overlooked. In every cupboard, drawer; in the beds and under; the
trunks; behind the radiators and the pictures; the shelves and clothes
in the closets. What he sought he had not found.
His vengeance would not be complete without those green stones in his
hands. Anna would call from her grave. Pretty little Anna, who had
trusted Stefani Gregor, and gone to her doom.
All these thousands of miles, by hook and crook, by forged passports, by
sums of money, sleepless nights and hungry days--for this! The last of
that branch of the breed out of his reach, and the stones vanished! A
queer superstition had taken lodgment in his brain; he recognized it now
for the first time. The possession of those stones would be a sign from
God to go on. Green stones for bread! Green stones for bread! The drums
of jeopardy! In his hands they would be talismanic.
But wait! That pretty girl across the way. Supposing he had intrusted
the stones to her? Or hidden them there without her being aware of it?